


When it's Over You're the Start

by ViceCaptain



Series: You're my head You're my heart [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViceCaptain/pseuds/ViceCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He got at least 50 years older inside himself, in a handful of seconds in which his eyes followed the Fall he lost so many years of life…<br/>The Fall, with capital F…</p>
            </blockquote>





	When it's Over You're the Start

**Author's Note:**

> I translated it from italian, so if you notice some mistakes please, let me know. I hope this didn't come out like shit, really.  
> Based on this work a dear friend of mine did a beautiful and gorgeous fan-art, go and see it, it's in the "fan-art" folder (while you're there take a look to all her art because it's amazing u.u):
> 
>  
> 
> [Dracontessa](http://dracontessa.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d4nkw2w/)

Insomnia.  
Caused by nightmares, caused by post traumatic stress, disorders which he thought were habits by then, the shadows under his eyes were symptoms of the lack of sleep, the capillaries that hinted his eyes remarked the stressed status he was in aggravated by the sloshed he got, every wrinkle seemed deeper in the merciless bath room light, his almost estranged reflection was the one of a wrecked man, exhausted…  
  
His emotionless face looked at him: what was that kind of an analysis? Too much time spent with a certain “high functioning sociopath”, perhaps…  
First big mistake: thinking again of him. Second big mistake: thinking again of him in the middle of the night after he collapsed for hitting the bottle too much.  
It wasn’t exactly the appropriate moment for those memories. But he had already uncovered the Pandora’s Box and, basing on the last days experience, it wouldn’t be over so quickly, he wouldn’t be able to maintain the self control and for what? He was alone. Once again, alone.

In his solitude he felt completely worn out, senile, tired… he got at least 50 years older inside himself, in a handful of seconds in which his eyes followed the Fall he lost so many years of life…  
The Fall, with capital F… Because that was the end of everything, every single thing, every significant fact happened to him from when he started to live again.  
He wasn’t ashamed of using those words because they were true and watching the merciless state he was in was just enough; he really tried, prayed with all his forces: “please, don’t be dead, could you do it for me?”…  
But there was no more hope left, how much time was passed? Too much for making he believe the man was still alive, something in him wanted to clutch at the idea, but reality was cruel and pitiless.  
  
Plus that man really did too much for him and for the others, John truly couldn’t ask more and he would be satisfied with so less than that.  
God, he felt so stupid… He came back from a war and yet he didn’t learn that the time is few and precious. He wanted to say so many things to him! Maybe he really realized it when he heard that sentence: “goodbye John”. In that exact moment he clearly realized time was running out and his brain was filled with words, sounds, images and then in a split second… the Fall. Silence.  
Nothing had sense anymore… people, voices, he couldn’t hear anything, neither his very thoughts, there was only a high-pitched ringing, it couldn’t be true. But he saw him, he saw his face and touched his wrist… Christ, he touched it!  
  
He sighed disconsolate, he was about to cry again and he hated crying, he hated knowing that there wasn’t anything else he could do, he went in the kitchen… How many empty bottles were scattered around? He didn’t want to count them. What was that, he wondered, a practical demonstration that he was his sister’s brother? The reality was yes, cruel, but also it had an absurd sense of humor.

How were the others doing? Maybe they were starting a new life, sometimes they called him just to know how he was, they went to visit him, they were concerned. Oh, so he was.  
He came back from war where hundreds, thousands of people died and yet he couldn’t regain from this.  
Was that because he was gone like that, letting nobody understand what he was doing? Or because he always said he didn’t understand feelings when was true just the opposite? Because he did it for John and all the other people who believed in him? Because he said he wasn’t a fucking hero and then he left like that?

He threw a bottle against the wall and it shattered all over the room, but he barely saw it because his sight was clouded by tears which then fell, boiling hot, on his cheeks. “once they are out and stream down they’re so liberating” he thought while the aching head became lighter, while his breath was calming but was becoming irregular with sobs… He didn’t mean to bother the others so much, the despair for his loss was a burden he wanted to carry all alone, probably was the man who asked them to care  so much about him, but he didn’t care, the Queen in flesh and bone could appear and order him to get up and start a new life and he would have sent her to “have a walk”, to say it with an euphemism.

If he looked back at the past the only memories were the ones with him, and yet there was something else before, wasn’t it? Something that wasn’t the war? Yes, there was or he supposed there should be, but his brain removed everything that was unimportant. He sat at the table and rested the head on his folded arms…  
From the very first moment something had snapped, a device started working and from that instant he focused all the attention on what the man did or said, he automatically followed him, he ran when called, he did what the other asked him to do just to see what would come after. That was how it went with that man. He was that drastic: you couldn’t stand him or you were carried away, you despised him or you admired him… you hated him or you loved him.

John had all the signals, the ones around him had noticed before and more than once they tried to say it to him… “as ever you see, but not observe, John”, a sour smile widened on his face amidst the tears, that was one of his favorite punch lines. If that one was true than who knew how many things passed right in front of his eyes and he didn’t notice… or he choose not to notice them on purpose. He passed his hand across his face, all those girls that didn’t last neither the time to understand what exactly he liked about them, all that time wasted trying to convince, more himself then the others, that he wasn’t what they thought of him… instead of accepting what he felt, he ran away from it. Why? What the others could have thought about them wouldn’t influence him, he wasn’t that childish, he didn’t care frankly…

The only thing that put him aside from being earnest with himself and that man was fear. That man, the best man who he ever known, scared him… unpredictable, he didn’t think as a common person, he didn’t talk as a common person, he didn’t feel as a common person, but he claimed that anyone who was in front of him kept his pace and if that person couldn’t make it he was utterly disappointed, when not annoyed.  
How could he relate himself with someone like him? But yet it was worth a try before getting to all of that… but he was unpredictable and so was his death.

Clearly John went back to see his therapist once again, as it could help… even she noticed “there’s stuff that you wanted to say” she stated “but didn’t say it. Say it now” “sorry, I can’t” he replied and then he didn’t went there anymore. Not because he didn’t need to go or because she wasn’t capable… Or maybe because of that too, but most of all because he found out the niggle in the back of his mind and there was no solution for that, so it was better to save time and money.  
He didn’t say a thing because there was no reason to and it wasn’t right: he didn’t say those things to whom had to hear them when he could say them, what was the point in saying them in the wrong place, with the wrong person, in the wrong moment?  
No, he would keep them for himself. Who else was worth them? No one was.

He stared at the darkness in the room, he got the habit of staying in darkness since the Fall, maybe because it happened in the light of day, in sun light, or maybe because, even if he was distant from him, he saw his eyes and there was no light in those bright blue eyes. If that man could be there he would be disappointed in seeing John like that, if that man could be there John would just start to live again because he really began living after he met him, that man was the start and then, unfortunately, he was the end too and if that man could be there John would punch him in the face because he couldn’t ever bear seeing him dead but yet there he was on the pavement, with the face covered in blood and even darken eyes.  
Shivers ran trough him when he recalled the images from his mind. He already dreamed it too many times, those nightmares were frightening. The memory was enough to tighten a lump in his throat.

A ray of light peered through the window and rested on his face. It was another day, which one he didn’t know, he only knew that was a new day and he had to keep doing till the night. The clock-radio switched on for letting him know that it was Friday, he switched it off muttering:-well, yes, thank you so much- his stare fell on the chalkboard in the kitchen, there was only one thing written on it: “Friday, go to see Mrs. Hudson”. At least he had something to do for the day, considering that at work they gave him some free days. Maybe it was time for John to go back there, he couldn’t go back living in their flat, perhaps he wouldn’t ever make it, but he had to be capable to go there at least and he promised Mrs. Hudson that he would go and see her, she was concerned and after the funeral they didn’t meet again.

The cold air slapped him in the face when he got out the door, it was a dreary day, probably it was going to rain in short time… A day as any other, in London. He called for a cab and asked to be taken to Baker Street; perhaps he remained some seconds looking at the door waiting to gain enough force to ring the door bell. He wouldn’t run away, but he had to calm down the chaos in his head. He probably looked like a prowler standing still, doing nothing apart from looking at the brassy numbers fixed on the door. John touched them, with just his fingertips… after so much time he was back. It barely seemed true… He wondered if Mrs. Hudson gave away the flat, it would be the most logical assumption, there was no benefit in keeping it vacant. The rain started to fall, lightly in the first moment, but in few seconds it poured down in buckets, and it gave him the push for ringing that door bell. He shuddered while waiting for Mrs. Hudson to open the door, he looked around tiredly: the people walking by, accustomed to the fickle time, opened  umbrellas not even changing their expression, all around black umbrellas opened and then started again to move. The door opened, finally:-John, dear! Come in before you get soaked!-  
He missed Mrs. Hudson’s concern so much:-yes, than…- he stopped before ending the sentence…

John saw him with the corner of the eye. He was sure, he saw him in the crowd, it had to be him. John ran without even thinking, he wasn’t sure it was real, but he didn’t care. He spotted that tall figure again, with his long coat and dark hair, it was him, it had his pace, John couldn’t be wrong. He saw him turn in an alley, he was far from John but he couldn’t miss him. His heart was beating so hard he couldn’t hear the sounds of the street, his lungs burned for the effort and he was already soaked by the rain, but the exertion wouldn’t stop him.

John turned in the alley too and what he saw managed to stop him… The alley was empty. He couldn’t have exit it already, maybe he was hiding somewhere, maybe this was one of his tricks, maybe John really daydreamed and saw him… the rush of adrenaline was over and then he felt the exhaustion and the cold and the frustration made tears went up his eyes, he sighed and put them down from where they came. At home he could cry the fuck out of himself, but outside no, he couldn’t. It was astonishing noticing how soldierly attitude leaked inside him and changed him deeply. John gave a last gaze around and then went back to the door, Mrs. Hudson was on the landing, under her umbrella, looking at the footpath, concerned. When she saw him she walked toward him:-Jesus, I was worried about you. Why did you run away like that?-  
-I thought I had seen… something. It doesn’t matter. Sorry if I concerned you-  
-well, let’s go inside and warm up with a cuppa. How it sounds to you?-  
-very good, thanks-

Mrs. Hudson’s home was exactly as he remembered it, nothing changed, as if time had stopped. Seeing her busy making tea gave him nostalgia, but it warmed his heart. When Mrs. Hudson seated at the table with him, she looked at John once again visibly concerned:-what were you doing all this time? You look really bad-  
John sipped his tea and answered:-I kept on working, tried to not make everyone worry about me while I was trying to keep on living-  
Mrs. Hudson shaked her head lightly:-on this part you weren’t so efficient, dear. We were so scared that you could do something stupid. You’re so wrecked after all this time-  
-not so much time had passed, Mrs. Hudson-  
-three years had passed, John- he looked at her, astonished:-three years?-  
-oh, dear- she looked back at him coverd her mouth with a hand.

He couldn’t restrain himself this time… Three years? Impossible, it seemed yesterday that he was gone, the pain didn’t relieve neither for a second, it was simply impossible he lived for three years in those conditions:-let it out, it will help you, John-  
-tell me you are kidding me, please. How can someone not notice three years had passed?-  
-I wouldn’t neither dream to joke about this-  
-no, obviously not…-

And then there were no other words coming out from him, he had a lump tightened in his throat. He was crying for frustration, shame, rage and despair, without making a sound. Mrs. Hudson embraced him, sorry, he didn’t want to be seen like that by her, he didn’t mean to make her feel worse, but he just couldn’t stop himself, he didn’t manage to say stop at his own body.  
-I am so sorry- she mumbled  
-no, it’s me who is sorry. Give me just a second-

Somehow John was able to calm himself down, he pitied himself so he tried not to look her in the eyes or he could see commiseration there and he wouldn’t bear it. When it was possible for him to sustain a conversation again, John finally looked at her face, but there was no pity in her eyes, nor commiseration, there was fondness and in that moment he thought he understood why he and Sherlock cared so much about that woman.

-sorry- he mumbled  
-stop apologize now, dear- she smiled at him:-I thought you wanted to see the flat once again, but maybe it’s not a good idea…-  
-I don’t want to bother the new occupants-  
-which occupants?-

John looked at her seriously:-you didn’t  rent the flat out in all this time?-  
-who want a flat full of junk and with the wall covered in bullet holes? Only you could live in that den, you reduced it in a state that no one could live in it anymore-  
this time John smiled too:-I think you’re right-

After that came a moment of silence in which both were obviously remembering happy moments, irritating moments, touching moments… vital moments but, by then, long gone.  
–I’d really love to see the flat once again, Mrs. Hudson, please-  
-let’s go, then-

They went upstairs in silence and then entered the flat. John thought he could still hear the voices, the sounds, the music, he thought he could still see Sherlock in front of the window while playing the violin:-you kept it clean-  
-it’s already wrecked, a bit of cleaning can only be good for it-

All Sherlock’s stuff were there, his instrumentations, the violin, the skull carefully dusted too:-he wouldn’t be happy of knowing you touch it, Mrs. Hudson-  
She snorted and replied:-I’m not happy knowing that someone’s head is covered in dust and dirty under my same roof, we can consider our self all squares now-  
John giggled

-do you want me to leave you alone for a while?- she asked  
-yes, ta-  
He stayed still until the woman’s steps were far downstairs, and then he looked around.

Coming back in that empty place made him understand: it was over, forever. But this time it wasn’t like the other times in his life when something was over, because in the past, when something was over, Sherlock was the start of something else, always. Then it was definitive, but yet John would have given anything to start again with him, to have just a little more time, to say what he didn’t say…

-you noticed, isn’t it?- he asked in the silence of the room:-when didn’t you notice something?-  
-it never happens, in fact. Highly improbable that I don’t catch something-  
-yes, well, now don’t spoil everything with your…-

Was that his voice? John didn’t know if he wanted to turn, it could be an hallucination, like before in the street. He took a deep breath and slowly turned. He was there, standing, watching at him and John knew it wasn’t his mind’s joke because otherwise he would have his habitual pedantic stare, that superior manner, instead that man standing there had the usual braggart face, but he couldn’t disguise his gaze…

John threw himself against him and punched him in the face so violently that Sherlock fell to the ground, he was definitely real judging from his hand’s pain,  
the other was totally caught unprepared:-wha…?- he tried to articulate  
-YOU’RE AN IDIOT!- John shouted at the top his lungs, then he grabbed him by his shirt and made him stand:-and so am I-  
He stated before getting closer his face and kissing his lips. Clearly, Sherlock was impressed, but after a bit of seconds he let himself go, parted his lips and let their tongues touch and seek for themselves.

-John, did something happen? I heard you yell… dear god!-  
They didn’t stop neither when Mrs. Hudson came upstairs and then decided it was better went back downstairs and leave the explanations for later, while she was descending a smart smile lighted her face:-I knew it- she stated to herself.

When they finally parted Sherlock tried to speak, but John hushed him with a gesture:-no, now you let me talk. I prayed to be able to say it to you and now that I actually can I will: I love you-  
The silence fell between them, John cleared his throat:-and with this I shushed you already three times from when I saw you again… you can talk now-  
\- asdfkoqf…- was all Sherlock managed before clearing his throat too:-I mean… I was waiting for you giving me the permission, Captain-  
-you have it now… so, speak-  
-I… sort of thought something to say before, but now I can’t quite recall the exact words…-  
John snorted:-you think you need to lock you up in that mind palace of yours or can you manage it?-  
-maybe you want to know how I survived- the other tried  
-no-

Sherlock looked at him slightly irritated, he was clearly dying to explain it to someone:-you want to know how I disappeared in the alley, before-  
John's face enlighted:-so that was actually you. Anyway no-  
-you want to know if I noticed-  
-you already said it and, no, I don’t want to know how you deduced it-

That crossed and disappointed face again:-what do you want to know, then?-  
-if for you is the same-  
Sherlock rose a brow:-John, as ever you see, but not observe. I gave you a lot of signals about it-

John sighed:-YES OR NO?- he asked roughly  
-YES!-the other replied with his baritone voice:-It was so clear that I was wondering why you didn’t ask before-  
-it wasn’t clear… it took me so much time to figure it out-  
-how much?-

John thought for some seconds before admitting:-in fact, I figured it out just today-  
-a day of revelations this one, as it seems. Now I have to scold everybody was asked to look after you and didn’t…-  
-no-  
-Jesus Christ! For how much are you going to controvert?- Sherlock's voice was exasperated  
-you are not going anywhere, if it’s not the bedroom-  
-I don’t need to rest-  
-who talked about letting you sleep, Virgin?-

Sherlock’s gaze was indecipherable, then he tried to answer:- asdfsmn-  
John grinned:-glad to hear you agree and now move- his voice was resolute and peremptory, the face absolutely serious, almost solemn, but in his eyes… there was the joy, the confusion, a lot of other things he didn’t say, but Sherlock could read, could hear like he had said them clearly. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but all he could do was obey to that order, because that was an order, for once his capacity of thought seriously debilitated.

If he wasn’t capable to think in that moment, John, on the other hand, had started to do so, furiously and quite messily, saying the truth. He never ever made love with a man and surely never ever made love with an high functioning sociopath who examined and catalogued all his moves, words, breaths, reactions.  
And, above all, the other one was Sherlock Virgin Holmes, which is much to say.

Anyway, once they both passed the bedroom’s door, they looked at each other, without saying anything and it was like they knew exactly what to do in that moment… John closed the door and looked at him firmly:-strip-  
He said just that, he always acted by instinct, moved by what the heart said him, and that time he would be himself, that went perfectly along with Sherlock’s cerebral being: he needed data for doing what he did? Good enough, John would give them to him. The first was that: “strip”.

Sherlock understood how it worked and smiled while his hands ran to his shirt’s buttons:-slower- was the new order.  
That tapered hands slowed down, opened the buttons one after another, revealing the white skin underneath the fabric inch by inch, he stopped a couple of times just to glance at John, that stare… John never saw him doing it, that was enough to turn him on.

Sherlock let the shirt fall with a swish, then he unzipped his trousers, always with slow motions, and let them fall too. Once he was naked John took his time, observed every inch of that sinuous body just as if it was the first time he saw it, the white skin, the lean and slender figure, the curve of his shoulders, the line of his long pale neck that he wanted to kiss and bite so badly that he actually did, holding him in his arms, Sherlock moaned lightly, both panted heavily…

There was only one missing thing…  
-say something- John murmured in his hear  
-ah, so now I have the permission to speak?- the other said, trying to sound smug, but not quite succeeding  
-I didn’t say you couldn’t-  
Sherlock giggled, a light sound despite his deep voice:-all right, I’ll say something to you… you strip too-

John grinned, a predatory, feral, grin. It was Sherlock’s turn now watching while the other stripped and then came back close to him, Sherlock’s eyes were trying to catch every detail from the man who stood in front of him: tense and compact muscles, the light shade of his chest and belly hair, the exact tone of his nipples, every mole’s position, the length of the scar on his shoulder…

-Sherlock- John looked at him with such warm eyes, he missed so much that calculating gaze recording everything he observed; coming to think about it, he missed so much every little thing about him… John pushed down Sherlock gently, then he followed and kissed him again, for long. A deep, wet, probing kiss, he parted a bit so he could look into his eyes once again:-touch me-  
Sherlock blinked twice before he managed asking:-… where?-

Once again that grin widened on John’s face:-wherever you want-  
His pale hands were slightly shaking while they moved over John’s body caressing his neck, his nape, his chest, his hips, his thighs, then they rose to his buttocks and fled to his cock which they touched on fingertips, John sighed at the touch

-John… may I…?-  
-yes?-  
Sherlock licked his lips and casted his longing gaze directly on John’s stare:-may I taste you?-  
It was nothing more than a whisper, his tone calculatedly low and modulated:-please-

Clearly Sherlock read his answer from his bodyily reactions, because he didn’t need his permission to place his mouth on that sensitive part. John felt Sherlock’s breath on his skin, then his mouth, his tongue, he moaned while the other tasted him slowly, he took his time, he seemed to speed up and then he slowed down again, he teased, experimented…

-Sherlock- John called, breathless:-you’re driving me crazy…-  
Sherlock parted slightly from him and asked:-not good?-  
John could hear the smile in his voice:-bastard- he hissed through his teeth. Sherlock returned on him with his hot and tempting mouth, the pleasure confused John, every time Sherlock moved John thought he was on the brink of precipice… until he finally came and fell on his hands and knees.

Panting he looked at Sherlock who lasciviously licked his lips and that was enough to turn him on again, John pushed a finger on Sherlock’s mouth, a finger which he started to lick and suck exactly as he did before with his cock, he bit it lightly, then he did all again for the next finger, John pulled that hand down his thin and sinuous body and then slid those fingers inside him, slowly, while with the other hand he fisted the other’s cock. Sherlock was shaking and panting, that man always so sure of what he thought or felt was at the mercy of his lover, John could see it: Sherlock wasn’t able to choose between cataloging what he felt, recording which part of his body was having most pleasure, observing each of John moves, every inch of his skin, all the sounds and expressions he made.

And, while he was sinking in the sensations that were flooding him and he was trying in vain to register all of them, John stared at him while he was overwhelmed, for once, by something he didn’t knew and he was gorgeous, so goddamn sensual while he arched his back and called his name:-John…- that sound sent shivers all through John’s body:-please…-  
He didn’t know exactly what to ask, but lucky for him John understood perfectly.

With a quick, harsh, almost furious move John penetrated him, then with more calm he let Sherlock adjust, breath, grab hold of him and John held him tight… there was only a moment of stillness while they listened to their breaths, then John started to thrust inside him, Sherlock moved too, rocking his hips matching with John’s rhythm… both moaned, both called their names like they could forget them, then Sherlock groaned in Johns’ ear:-say it please say it… I want to hear those words again-  
-I love you, Sherlock-  
He grabbed John more tightly, if it was actually possible, so tight it hurt, his fingers digging in John’s dark skin leaving red marks:-yes John you’re mine… oh god yes. I love you John-  
-say that again-  
-I love you John-

Hearing those words coming out that mouth, it was the most delightful sound John ever heard… Sherlock let out a sort of whimper that had nothing to do with a human being, but yet extremely sensual, and he came arching his back and neck. For John seeing his lover writhing beneath him murmuring his name once again was more than enough, with two last thrusts of his hips he came abundantly inside him. John let himself fall on Sherlock’s chest, his limbs had gone numb for the pleasure, his eyes clouded and his mind drugged by him, them, their warmth.

They stilled, embraced, none of them was talking, it didn’t seem necessary. After some minute in which they just caressed one another, kissed and exchanged lovely glazes, John talked:-you don’t really know how much I missed you-  
Sherlock nodded:-of course I know, I missed you the same-

John pinched Sherlock’s nipple:-ouch! Why?- the other whined  
-if you missed me so much you could come back earlier! Jesus Christ, you came back from how much? Less than two hours and I already want to punch you!- he uttered  
-thing that you, actually, already did-  
-you deserved that-

After some seconds of silence Sherlock said:-yes, I think so…-he cleared his throat:-I’m so sorry-  
John goggled:-could you repeat it when I managed to get a tape recorder? You apologizing to someone?-  
-not to someone, to you- suddenly he sat up and looked down at him:-you are currently living in your old flat-  
-yes-  
-I expect you to move tomorrow, no, today! Come on, let’s go pick up your stuff- his voice was frantic, he could start panicking any moment  
-Sherlock, calm down. I’m not going to run away. Lay down-

Sherlock lay back in his arms:-I couldn’t blame you if you decided to run away-  
John scoffed:-no one really could, you’re unnerving, arrogant, self important and you really have a bad temper… but that’s how you are and I’ve fallen in love with you, so there is not much to do about it, isn’t it?-  
Sherlock smiled, waited a bit and then stated:-so Mrs. Hudson dusted my skull…-  
-she said she couldn’t bear someone’s head covered in dust and dirt under her same roof-  
-but yet she let Anderson in without a word-

They looked in each other eyes and laughed:-god, you're terrible- said John with tears in his eyes:-… Welcome back, Sherlock-  
-welcome back, John-

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this was inspired by Florence and the Machine's song [No Light No Light](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGH-4jQZRcc), i cried the fuck out of myself while listening at it after Reichenbach Fall. Seriously.  
> It was just perfect.


End file.
